7 Sorrow on Sunday (23 page)

Finally, the doctor turned to Derek and said, “We’ll keep her in for forty-eight hours, Mr. Meade,” he said. “Just to be sure that there’s nothing we might have missed. I think she’s been very lucky—I know it doesn’t look like that! But whoever dragged her out of that van saved her life.”

“It was Darren Smith,” Cowgill said, and Derek scowled at him. What was he still doing here? Then he realized that of course the police would be involved. Some vehicle had tipped the van into the ditch and then scarpered.

“He’s a lad with learning difficulties, but with incredible courage. He’s in Accident and Emergency right now,
Derek,” Cowgill continued. “You’d probably want to have a word with him.”

“But Lois . . . ?”

“She’s quite safe with us. Come back as soon as you like. We shall be taking very good care of her,” the doctor said.

Cowgill and Derek went down the stairs side by side, and found their way through the tortuous corridors of the hospital to A & E. “There he is,” said Cowgill, “and that’s his Mum.”

Darren’s scratched face brightened when he saw Derek. “Good afternoon, Mr. Meade,” he said, with his well-learned politeness.

Derek sat down beside him. “Hallo, lad,” he said. “I can see you’ve been in a fight!”

“No! Not fight,” said Darren, looking anxious. Then he saw the joke, and laughed. “White van tipped over,” he said. “Mrs. Meade asleep. Fire in the van. Darren got out. White van no good now. Mrs. Meade awake?”

“Yes,” Derek said gently, and wondered how he would have coped if he’d had to tell Darren that Mrs. Meade would not wake up ever again. “Thanks to you, Darren,” he added. “You saved her life.”

Darren smiled tentatively, not sure what this meant, nor whether it was a good thing.

Derek tried again. “The fire would have taken Mrs. Meade away from us. But you got her out of that van, and now we still have her. Thank you very much.”

Now Darren understood. “Fire nearly killed her,” he said, and nodded.

Cowgill, who had been standing behind Derek, came forward and said, “I’m afraid it means more questions, Mrs. Smith, but we’ll see when the doctor thinks Darren will be ready to talk to us.”

A nurse came for Darren, and Derek made his way back upstairs. Cowgill walked out of the hospital and saw his driver waiting patiently. He got into the car and said nothing. After five minutes or so, as they headed for the police
station, Cowgill said, “Sorry I was out of order. You’ll be glad to know Mrs. Meade is going to be all right, the doctor is pretty sure.” Then he added with a deep sigh, “God, what a day!”

N
EXT MORNING, FLOWERS ARRIVED AT THE
M
EADES’
house, and Gran pulled herself together sufficiently to put them all in water. Derek had said there was no point in her going in to see Lois, as she would be home the next day. Also, he said, the doctor had prescribed bed rest for two days, and she must be kept quiet.

“I
am
her mother,” Gran had said, but seeing the state Derek was in, she agreed to wait until Lois came home. Meanwhile, she cleaned the house from top to bottom, until it smelt strongly of polish and disinfectant, as if Lois would be so fragile that all her immunity to marauding bacteria would have been destroyed. Anyway, it gave her something to do.

Hazel in New Brooms’ office had been told, and she had instantly become super-efficient, informing all the others and taking on the running of the business. “Just give me a bell if you need anything,” she had said. “We must do everything we can to set Mrs. M’s mind at rest.”

Josie had set off for the hospital the moment she was told, without consulting Derek, and sat with her mother, holding her hand and saying nothing. There was no need. Lois drifted in and out of sleep, and when she saw Josie there, she smiled. When a nurse suggested it was time for Lois to be examined again, Josie left, blowing tearful kisses as she went.

The first the village knew of the accident was when Josie put up a notice on the shop door, saying “Closed due to family crisis.” This sent the Farnden network of gossips into a frenzy, and one hour later they all knew the details of the smash, of the van being destroyed, of Lois hanging
between life and death. This last detail had become magnified as it was passed from mouth to mouth.

After a troubled night’s sleep, Josie had telephoned the police station and asked to speak to Matthew Vickers. “What is it in connection with, please?” said the receptionist.

“Just put me through,” Josie said fiercely, and Rob, standing by her side, reflected that she was definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Good morning, can I help?” Matthew’s voice was warm and friendly. Rob could hear every word he said. Josie breathed deeply, and felt reassured. She explained what had happened, and said she would like to be sure that the police were pulling out all the stops to catch the villains.

“So sorry about all this, Josie,” he said, in an even warmer voice. “We shall be on to them very soon. All of us, especially the Chief Inspector, will work hard to find the people involved. Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll pop in and see you later. I enquired about your mother, and, as you will know, it seems she is making good progress. Chin up, me duck, as they say around here . . . Bye, Josie.”

“Why did you ask to speak to him and not Cowgill?” Rob asked suspiciously.

“Because Cowgill gives nothing away. Ever,” she said firmly. “Matthew has called in at the shop once or twice, and seems very approachable.”

Rob said nothing, but thought a lot. First-name terms, and calling in at the shop once or twice. Or three or four times? He put his arm round Josie, claiming her. “Let’s go and open the shop, shall we?” he said. “Best to keep busy.” He hugged her close, and his eyes were watchful.

*   *   *

E
VELYN
N
IMMO HAD HEARD THE NEWS FROM
H
AZEL,
and, after saying all the right things, had rung off and sat quite still, thinking. She was due to go for the first time to the Horsleys, and Mrs. M had intended to meet her there to introduce her. Hazel had said would she be willing to go on her own. If not, she would shut up shop for an hour and be with her.

“Good gracious, no!” Evelyn had answered. “I shall be perfectly fine. You can’t be married to a Nimmo for thirty years without being ready for anything! P’raps you could ring and explain to them. It’ll make no difference to me. Give Mrs. M my best, won’t you.”

Later, when Evelyn drove into Horsleys’ farmyard, she saw that the kitchen door was open and a woman stood there. “Mrs. Nimmo?” Margaret smiled and came forward. “I had a call from your office. So sorry to hear about Mrs. Meade. Sounds as if she is lucky to be alive.”

Joe Horsley appeared behind Margaret. “Morning,” he said gruffly. “Is she expected to live?”

Evelyn flinched at the blunt question, but said, “Oh, yes, she’s tough, is the boss. Now,” she added, turning to Margaret, “do you mind showing me what you want me to do? Where to start, and all that? Thanks very much.”

Joe disappeared behind a barn, and Margaret led the way into the kitchen. Evelyn looked around at the pine units and greeny-grey slate surfaces, gadgets galore, and a ginger cat sitting on the sunny windowsill, looking out of the window.
A place for everything, and everything in its place
, thought Evelyn.

“Oh, I love cats,” she said, and put out a hand to stroke it. Margaret laughed. “Not very fluffy, is he?” she said, and Evelyn realized it was a perfect pottery cat, with expressionless green glass eyes. Where were the real farm cats? Outside, no doubt, in their proper place. They moved into a luxuriously furnished room, with cream leather chairs and heavy drapes drawn back with silk rope ties. “This is the drawing room,” Margaret said.

“It’s lovely.” Evelyn was impressed. “It’ll be a pleasure to work in here,” she said, silently wondering if muddy Joe would ever be allowed to sit down.

The rest of the house gave the same impression of money lavishly spent. As far as Evelyn could see, there was no dirt, no dust, the furniture shone and the silver sparkled. Never mind, she could stretch out the time along with the best. She set to work.

By lunchtime, the Horsley house was even more immaculate
than before. Margaret thanked Evelyn profusely, and said she would look forward to seeing her next week.

“By the way,” she said, “how is your sister? Has she regained consciousness yet?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No, she’s much the same. We are all very worried about her. Strange, isn’t it,” she added, “that Dot and Mrs. M were both in car accidents? Makes you wonder if it was more than a coincidence.” She had no idea why she said this, except that the thought had just come into her head.

“There’s car accidents every day, thousands of them,” Margaret said. “Just an unlucky coincidence, I’m sure.”

“What is?” said Joe, coming into the kitchen and leaving black footprints all over the tiles Evelyn had just cleaned.

“Never mind, dear. Not important,” said Margaret. “Now please go outside and take off those muddy boots! Poor Evelyn has just got the tiles looking like new.”

“Bugger that,” said Joe, not moving. “I asked you what is an unlucky coincidence.”

Evelyn was beginning to wish she had not said it. Joe looked furious, and Margaret backed away from him. Better put it right as soon as possible.

“It was me, Mr. Horsley,” she said. “I just said it was strange that both my sister and my boss were involved in car accidents. Nothing more than that. I am sure it’s nothing sinister,” she added, attempting to make light of it.

“Sinister! Of course it’s not bloody sinister! Typical Nimmo . . . Quite a reputation, you lot.” He turned on his heel, and slipped on the still wet floor, going down with a crash. “Get her out of here!” he yelled at Margaret. “Look what you’ve done now!”

Evelyn left, angry and determined never to darken the Horsley door again. But Margaret followed her out to her car, and said, “
Please
don’t be cross. He doesn’t mean it. He knows he’s in the wrong, and that’s when he loses his temper. I am sure he’ll apologize when you come next week. You will come, won’t you?”

Evelyn glared at her. How did Dot put up with these people? She sighed. This was her first job with New Brooms,
and Mrs. M might think she’d messed it up. “Oh, all right, then,” she said. “But better keep him out of my way.”

She drove off, and saw Margaret standing disconsolately, watching her go.

*   *   *

“I
T WAS THE SISTER, BLOODY WOMAN,”
J
OE WAS SAYING
into the telephone. He rubbed his backside and Margaret laughed.

“Plenty to cushion the fall,” she said, and began making sandwiches for lunch. “Who was that?” she asked when Joe had hung up.

“Mind your own business,” he said, still in a foul mood.

“Horace Battersby, I suppose. What are the pair of you cooking up now?”

Joe ignored her. “Don’t fix up anything for tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going to Beecham Cross point-to-point. And no, you can’t come. Find yourself a chum to go shopping—spending my money is your favourite therapy.”

“You’re welcome to a field full of chinless wonders, tramping up and down in ankle-deep mud. And as for money, you’d better watch it. The Colonel was always a serious gambler. But still, you know that, don’t you? And as for your encouraging conversation with Evelyn Nimmo, you really put your great big foot in it. Who was it that wanted Dot Nimmo to come in the first place? And who was it agreed that Evelyn would be just as useful?”

He glared at her, but said nothing. She continued, “Never again, Evelyn said, but thanks to me and some tactful buttering-up, she’s agreed to forget it.” That wasn’t quite true, but his face brightened.

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly, and stamped out into the yard, where it had begun to rain heavily.

E
ARLY NEXT MORNING,
E
VELYN RECEIVED A CALL.
S
HE
couldn’t believe her ears.

“Evelyn? How did you get on at the Horsleys?” It was Mrs. M’s voice, clear as a bell.